The Red Wyvern - Katharine Kerr [41]
“I was glad at first,” Merodda remarked to Brour. “Abrwnna can be a tiresome little thing.”
“Indeed, my lady? But you’re not pleased now?”
“Well, I don’t want to see myself displaced in the queen’s favor.”
“Ah. That would be a great loss, truly.”
Merodda considered him for a long moment. His head bent over his work, he was writing out a proclamation of Lilli’s betrothal for the heralds. She would regret his death when Burcan killed him, but Burcan’s favor was the center of her life, the one thing she desperately needed, far beyond even the favor of the queen. If he wanted Brour gone, then gone he’d be. Brour stuck his reed pen into a hole in the side of his ink pot, then picked up a handful of sand from a tray beside him and sprinkled it over wet words.
“What do you think of Bevyan?” Merodda said.
“I rather like her, my lady, from what little I know of her, but I don’t know much at all.”
“Well, true spoken.” She hesitated, wondering what she wanted him to say. “It’s of no matter. Tonight I’ll be in the queen’s quarters, attending upon her highness. If anyone else wishes to see me, they’ll have to wait.”
“Very good, my lady.”
Brour picked up the sheet of parchment and tipped the sand back into its tray, then laid it down and got back to work.
That evening Merodda tried to reach the queen’s side early, but it seemed that the entire court was conspiring against her. As she made her way from the great hall, one person after another stopped her—servants asking for orders, lords hoping to wangle some favor from the regent, ladies wanting to chat, a page with a message from Burcan. By the time she reached the women’s hall Bevyan was there ahead of her, sitting at Abrwnna’s side on a footstool while the queen lounged in a cushioned chair. Her maidservants were laying a little fire in the hearth and lighting candles, while two serving women sang a song of love, trading off verses, and a third played a clumsy harp, all to keep the queen amused.
In vain, that—Abrwnna was scowling. When Merodda came in, she turned her head to acknowledge her, then waved a hand at the music-makers.
“Oh don’t!” Abrwnna snapped. “I hate that song.”
The music stopped. The singers glanced at each other, then arranged smiles. The would-be harpist looked close to tears.
“This is all unbelievably tedious.” Abrwnna lay back with her head resting on the chair and stared at the ceiling. “I think I’m going to die of boredom.”
“Well, Your Highness,” Bevyan said. “We could play a game of carnoic or wooden wisdom.”
“I’m sick of games.”
“Your Highness?” the lass with the harp said. “If your husband the king joined us, we could have a proper bard come in to entertain.”
“I don’t want my beastly husband here. He sucks his thumb when he listens.”
All the women glanced sideways at each other. Merodda found an empty chair and sat down. Their tasks done, the maidservants scurried away.
“I want to go for a walk in the night air,” Abrwnna announced.
“Very well, Your Highness,” Bevyan said. “We’ll all have a nice stroll in the gardens.”
“I don’t want anyone to come with me.”
“Your Highness!” Merodda broke in. “That would be most unwise.”
“I don’t care if it’s unwise or not! I want to be alone.”
The serving women all began talking at once, but Bevyan rose, faced Abrwnna, and caught the lass’s glance with hers.
“My poor dear child,” Bevyan said. “I know how unbelievably dreadful this all is. My heart aches for you. I can hear in your voice just how tired and lonely and frightened you are.”
“Well, I am, and all of those things!” Abrwnna seemed on the edge of tears. “When we were riding today, I just wanted to turn my horse and gallop away, just ride off somewhere and be lost. Anything would be better than another summer of this beastly war.”
Merodda felt a sudden chill—so! Bevyan had been riding with the queen, while she’d been left behind.
“Well, we can all understand that.” Bevyan sat again, but she turned the footstool so the queen could see her face. “But you feel it much more keenly than any of us.”